Your Heart's Desire
by harrietsthoughts
Summary: Harry encounters an unexpected sight on his first Christmas at Hogwarts, and works to understand what he finds...


Your Heart's Desire

Harry awoke at some point in the middle of the night after Christmas Day. This Christmas had been, without a single doubt, the greatest of his life so far. The many presents, the plentiful feasts, and the people happy to share the day with him were a far cry from Christmases previous, spent with his Aunt and Uncle. And yet, his mind was discontent, his thoughts focused on a single present that he'd received that day, that mysterious package containing a cloak, along with a note that read,

'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time you became a great wizard like he was, and so I am returning it to you, its rightful owner. Use it well. A very merry Christmas to you.'

No name, and no indication of why Harry's father had left the cloak with anyone. Of course, Harry had tried the cloak on earlier, and when he'd spotted his head floating in the dormitory room mirror without a body attached, he had jumped about a mile into the air. He hadn't had much more chance to test it, however, until now. He opened his case, pulling out the impossibly smooth silky cloak that had been thrown into the top. It flowed like mercury in his hand and felt extremely light as he threw it over his shoulders. Looking down at his feet, he saw only the carpet underneath him. He approached the mirror in the room, and as he passed in front of it, he once again saw only his disembodied head standing there. He pulled the cloak over his head and that, too, disappeared, leaving Harry to see only the wall behind him in the mirror. It was a funny feeling, being invisible. Harry thought that he'd like to go around with just his head invisible, to see what people would think, but quickly cast the thought out of his mind.

The words of the note echoed through his once again. Each line was more confounding to Harry than the last, but some intrigued Harry more than others. 'Use it well,' was all he could think of as he stepped into the common room, and then out through the painting of the Fat Lady into the corridor outside.

'Use it well.' Would Harry's mysterious benefactor think that breaking school rules was a good use of the cloak? Harry plodded on regardless, heading towards the library. He still had to find any information about the enigmatic Nicholas Flamel, after all, who had eluded Harry, Ron and Hermione in all of their searches.

Another phrase from the note appeared in Harry's head as he hopped over one of the trick stairs in a staircase approaching the library. 'It is time you became a great wizard like your father was.' Harry didn't know why this phrase bothered him so much, but it had ever since he had first heard of his dad's exceptional career. He figured it was partly wanting to be his own person, a great wizard of his own actions. But being 'Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived' granted that to him anyway. He would forever be more famous than his father, before he had even said his first word.

Was it that he wanted to prove that he wasn't just following his dad's footsteps at Hogwarts (even though he was following them very closely so far)? Or was it something else about the statement that caused that itchy feeling to run over his body when he heard it? Harry thought on it for a bit. Wasn't his mother also brilliantly talented? Why was it always his father that he was compared to, and not her? His father had been a troublemaker, so Hagrid had told Harry, and yet Harry had trouble happen to him, trying his best to avoid it otherwise. He reached the entry to the library and these thoughts stopped almost instantly.

He figured that the restricted section would probably contain something about Flamel, and so he stepped over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library. He lit a lamp he had picked up and held it up to the shelves to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling letters, painstakingly painted in gold, spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some books had no title at all, and one had a stain that looked remarkably like blood. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end, and he thought he could feel a presence within the books, that they knew that he shouldn't be there. He looked for a book to start with, picking one up from the bottom shelf. It was a hefty book, bound in thick grey leather, but as soon as Harry opened it, it let out a blood-curdling scream, that continued even after it had been closed and shoved hastily back into the shelf.

Harry had bolted out of the restricted section as fast as possible, gripping his cloak tightly around him as he ran, but the sound of an approaching Filch caused his steps to slow, for fear that his footsteps on the tiles of the library would get him caught. Filch had arrived in the entryway of the library as soon as he had done this, but Harry, being invisible, was able to let Filch walk straight past him. Harry walked carefully but quickly out of the library, turning quickly in the hopes of getting as far away from the library as possible. He didn't pay much attention to where he was going, instead making sure he wasn't making too much noise. He suddenly stopped as he reached a suit of armour, which told him he had no idea where he was. There should've been a suit of armour near the kitchens, but he knew that he must have been at least 5 floors above the kitchens. Harry didn't have any more time to think about, however, as he heard the soft, greasy voice of Filch, much closer than Harry had anticipated.

"You asked me to come to you directly, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night and somebody's in the library – Restricted Section." Filch rounded the corner to the corridor Harry stood, helpless yet invisible, and, to Harry's horror, so did Snape.

"The Restricted Section? They can't be far. We'll catch them." The pair approached Harry, getting closer, and in the space of the narrow corridor they would certainly bump into him. He attempted to sneak backwards as quietly as he could, looking for anywhere to escape to. He saw an ajar door to his left and attempted to squeeze through it without opening it. He managed, just, and was safely in the room as Snape and Filch passed by and carried on down the corridor. Harry's heartrate slowed down as their footsteps slowly faded into the distance, and, once his breathing had returned to normal, he finally decided to take a look at the room.

It was empty for the most part. Chairs and tables were piled up along the walls, and a blackboard hung up at the opposite end of the room to Harry. Moonlight shone in through the window on his left, illuminating the rest of the room, including what he saw on his right.

A giant, ornately decorated golden-framed mirror was leaning against the right wall, as thought it had been only recently placed there. It stood as tall as the ceiling, and around the arch at the top of the mirror, the moonlight caught the inside of a set of carved letters that read,

'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'

He mouthed the phrase out loud, trying to make sense of it, but quickly gave up. He approached the mirror, expecting to not see himself again thanks to the cloak he was still wearing. What he did see in the mirror, however, was completely unexpected.

A crowd of people filled the room. He quickly wheeled about to confirm that, in fact, the room on this end of the mirror was empty. It took all his effort not to scream. His reflection still didn't show up thanks to the cloak, and so he tiptoed over to the door and listened for a minute for the sounds of any possibly patrolling adults. When he figured the coast was clear, he took the cloak off and lay it down, and paced back over to the mirror. In the time he had been gone, some of the crowd had moved around, each of those at the back peering over the shoulders of those in front in hope of getting a look, each smiling a broad, toothy grin. Now visible was a young girl, probably about Harry's age, stood right at the front of the crowd, in front of two adults. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he did a double take. The man standing to the girl's right looked remarkably Harry. He was tall yet thin, with scruffy black hair that stuck up just like Harry's did. He wore glasses, too, but the frame was a different style to Harry's. Behind those glasses, however, a pair of brown eyes peered back. Harry looked over to the woman stood next to him. Her ginger hair flowed down past her shoulders. She had a warm, kind face, and her smile soothed Harry's worry about being caught completely. He saw she had sparkly, emerald eyes. His eyes.

"Mum? Dad?" Tears started to form in Harry's eyes as he said this, hoping beyond anything he had ever hoped that they would respond, but instead, they simply smiled back at him bittersweet but sincere smiles. His dad was crying but put his hand on the girls shoulder, reassuringly squeezing. Harry instinctively looked to his own shoulder, and reached up to it with his own hand, meeting only thin air. Turning back, Harry noticed the girl had also reached up to her shoulder. He put his hand down, and so did she in unison. It was a mirror, after all, Harry thought to himself, although it wasn't him who was being reflected back. She did look remarkably like him, even more so than his father did. She was wearing the same glasses he was, perched on the same nose, and behind the frames those green eyes sparkled back. Her hair was the same pitch black as his, but unlike his, a straight cut fringe covered her forehead entirely, and the hair at the back of her head continued past her shoulders. Harry turned his body, and following suit, the girl did so too, exposing the full length of her hair behind her back as it swished around her body like a curtain, and the flowery dress she was wearing had followed suit, its hem twirling around her tights-clad legs - it was winter after all. She turned her body back to face the mirror straight on and tucked her hair back behind her ear. Or rather, Harry had, and she had copied him. Harry's fingers had brushed only a few strands of hair behind his own ear.

He felt a rush of emotions looking into the mirror, but the strongest were ones he would have struggled to describe. There was a deep pang in his stomach, impactful enough almost to cause him physical pain. In contrast, in his chest he felt a warmth that rushed to his head and enveloped his whole body that caused him to smile perhaps the most joyful, pure smile he had ever smiled. It was like pure ecstasy, undoubtedly a feeling he had never felt before, and one that he didn't want to end.

He remained in the front of the mirror, deadly still, looking at the girl and her family. His family. Who was she? Harry had heard all about his parents from Hagrid and had even heard his Aunt and Uncle reluctantly talk about them, but he had never been told or overheard of this girl. And yet he had to be related somehow, seeing as they were so similar. He would have struggled to point many differences out between the two of them, except that she was wearing girl's clothes and he wasn't. His mind could only think one thing. He looked at his mum through the mirror.

"Is she… your daughter?" Harry's dad had been crying before, but at these words his mum started to as well. She didn't nod or shake her head, however, but just smiled further and more sincerely.

"My sister?" Still, neither of his parents confirmed or denied his question. They mustn't have been able to answer. "Ok. I think I know, though." Harry sat down, deciding to spend more time looking at his family. At this he started to see some of his features on the people behind his parents, a pair of eyes here, a nose or a smile there, even an older man with what looked like Harry's knobbly knees. Most of all, however, he looked at the girl who was mirroring his every action, with a focus he rarely saw from himself, but with that feeling in his chest never going away, leaving him at a soul-fulfilling peace.

As the first signs of sunrise shone through the window into the room, Harry realised he had been sat at the mirror for far too long, and quickly stood up. The warmth in his chest was still there while he looked at the mirror, and as such he had to wrestle his eyes away from it.

"I'll come back." He said to his mum, before averting his gaze and going back over to where he'd left his cloak, quickly wrapping himself in it and leaving the mirror room to find the Gryffindor common room.

As he woke up the next morning, Harry found himself thinking only of going back to the mirror that night. As he and Ron got up - alone in the common room, as the others had all left for the holidays – he told Ron what had happened the previous night.

"You could have woken me up," was Ron's cross reply.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back. I want to show you the mirror."

"I'd like to see your parents," Ron said eagerly.

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people." Harry's stomach panged again at that.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Ron carried on with getting ready for breakfast, but Harry found himself stopped at the mirror in the dormitory, staring at himself and thinking about the mysterious mirror he'd seen last night. Looking at his face, he now recognised some of the differences between himself and the girl in the mirror. Harry's chin was squarer, his nose larger and more prominent, and he thought his head sloped in a different way to hers, but he couldn't be too sure without going back. Still, thinking about even those things caused Harry to feel that pain in his stomach once again. He took a step back to look at the clothes he was wearing. A blank grey tee and some baggy jeans. They were loose, having once been Dudley's, but Harry doubted he'd have liked wearing them any better if they fit properly. He thought back to what she had been wearing. A flowery dress, mostly white, that flowed from her shoulders to just above her knees, and a pair of black tights that covered the rest of her legs. Harry thought that that had looked good and was glad that his sister at least had a better fashion sense than he did. Ron interrupted his thoughts from across the room.

"Coming to breakfast, Harry?" Harry turned his head and nodded weakly.

"Yeah, sure."

"Are you all right? You look odd."

Harry feared most of all that he wouldn't be able to remember his way back to the mirror. He had taken as little care trying to remember his way back as he had making his way there in the first place, but he knew that he'd started at the library and so made his way there, along with Ron, both hidden easily under the large cloak, but they had to walk much slower than one person could have on their own. They tried retracing Harry's for route for over an hour.

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"No!" Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armour.

"It's right here!"

They pushed the door open, and as soon as they stepped inside Harry immediately dropped the cloak and ran in front of the mirror. There they were, his family standing behind him once again. And there she was, that girl, once again being reflected back where Harry stood. She still had that dress that he liked on. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him. Harry once again felt that ache of terrible sadness, and the fiery burn of the joy in his chest.

"See?" Harry whispered, but Ron just looked confused.

"I can't see anything."

"Look! Look at them all. My mum and dad are right there, and there's that girl, too!"

"I only see you." Ron said. Harry blinked for a second, feeling confused.

"Maybe if you stand here, where I'm standing." He stepped aside and let Ron take his place, but as he did so, Harry's family disappeared from the mirror, leaving only a tired, pyjamaed Ron in front of the mirror. Ron, however, was transfixed.

"Look at me!" He said excitedly.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?"

"No, I'm alone. But I'm different – I look older. And I'm Head Boy!"

"What?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I am; I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to, and I'm holding the House Cup and Quidditch Cup. I'm Quidditch captain, too!" Ron tore his eyes away from the mirror and looked at Harry, his eyes full of wonder.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead. Here, let me have another look -"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me -"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realised how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Ron threw the Cloak back over them as the eyes of Mrs Norris came around the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing – did the cloak work on cats? After she left, Ron turned to Harry, saying,

"This isn't safe, she might've gone for Filch. I bet she heard us. Come on." Harry turned one last time to the mirror to look at his parents, to see that girl – but Ron pulled him out the room.

Harry thought long and hard about the mirror that night, as he lay in his bed. While Ron had fallen asleep almost instantly, and was now gently snoring, Harry had felt restless, barely able to lie still let alone sleep. The mirror was still a mystery to him.

He generally tried to avoid reading up about the night his parents had died, the night Voldemort tried and failed to kill him, despite it being in many of the dozens of modern magical history books Hermione had forced him to read through while looking for clues on Nicholas Flamel. And while he, his mother and father had been mentioned by name in each book, this girl, his presumed sister, hadn't. Not by name, nor had she been anonymously referenced, yet they couldn't have been related any way other than as siblings. Just what was the mirror showing?

That morning began much like the previous one: Harry awoke, and found himself staring at the himself in the mirror in the dormitory. How he longed to see his family in that mirror too, and yet only his own face stared back, but whereas he might normally have felt ambivalence when looking at his own reflection, he now felt that sorrow deep within his stomach that he felt when he looked at his family, along with a little frustration. He didn't know what he was frustrated about, but he couldn't make eye contact with himself in the mirror without feeling a little bristly. He didn't really know how to describe the feeling, and he didn't know if Ron would, either, so he decided not to tell him. As Harry left the mirror to carry on getting changed, that frustration followed him, like a dark cloud that hung around him. Ron, who had been affected considerably less by the mirror, was first to notice Harry's sour mood.

"Are you okay, Harry? You look down."

"I'm okay."

"Is something up?"

"I'm not sure."

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight"

"Why not?"

"I dunno. I've got a bad feeling about it – and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"I'm serious, Harry, don't go. Come play chess."

"I'm alright, thanks."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No… you go. I'll be in the library."

"The library? But we've looked everywhere in there for Flamel already."

"I know. Just, let me go there."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No thanks. I'd like to be alone."

And with that, Harry made his way once again to the library, now walking through daylit passages and without a cloak of invisibility. As he reached the entryway, he realised the loneliness of the corridor that would eventually lead to the room where the mirror lay. The other directions from the library were wide, open staircases that led to the common rooms and classrooms, but this other corridor went seemingly nowhere. As far as Harry could tell, the only notable thing in that direction was the room with the mirror. But then again, the corridors didn't really seem to stay in place for very long anyway, so he didn't know if he'd be able to even find the mirror in the future.

He took a step into the library and was immediately awash with regret and anxiety. He thought about how he could just have gone to see Hagrid like Ron had said. He didn't even know what he was going to look for, or if he should ask the librarian for something, and decided to think on it for a while. Clearly, Madam Pince became somewhat concerned of Harry, who had been standing still, deep in thought, for quite some time, and approached him.

"Is everything ok, dear?" She asked, the concern in her voice somewhat evident to Harry.

"Yes. It's just that I'm looking for something."

"A book?"

"Well, sort of. There are these books that muggles have, and they've got everybody's name in and phone number in." Madam Pince's eyebrows furrowed slightly, which Harry took as an invitation to explain further. "So it's got everybody's name in the country in it…"

This statement meant a little more to Madam Pince, who responded by saying,

"Well, we do have copies of the Ministry of Magic's censuses, if that's what you mean?" This gave Harry more questions than answers.

"Ministry of Magic? Censuses?"

"Every year, the Ministry conducts a survey of all magical people and their families in the country. Anybody who has exhibited magical ability is automatically recorded so that the next year, their name will be on the census. It lets the Ministry track the magical population alive in the country and Hogwarts gets to use it to find Muggle-born witches and wizards to invite to study here who we might not have otherwise known about."

"So it has everyone's name in?" Harry replied. Madam Pince frowned again.

"Yes. It has everyone's name in. Do you need a specific year?" Harry told her his birth year, to which Madam Pince walked Harry to a dusty alcove that he'd never noticed before, pulling a dustier book from a shelf far too high for Harry to have reached for himself, and handed it to him.

"I'm going to have to apologise, but you can't take this out of the library," said Madam Pince, dropping the heavy book into Harry's hands. "There's a lot of private information in these censuses."

"Thank you very much," Harry replied, somewhat flustered. The book was leather bound, with a plain title, printed in black, reading,

'CENSUS OF THE MAGICAL PEOPLE OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND AND THEIR DESCENDANTS 1980'

Madam Pince promptly walked back to her desk to do presumably something with her time, leaving Harry with the book standing in the alcove. He brought it over with him to a desk and opened it to the first page, hoping to find an index or a table of contents. Instead he saw, in the tiniest writing, a list of names and addresses, beginning with Ada Abbott and her son Igor, ages 36 and 7, living in Preston. Beneath their names was Johnathan Abbott (deceased), followed by a date of death. Harry quickly moved on, scanning down the list of names on the page, which only ended on Cristoph and Celia Abernathy, ages 86 and 88, residing in St Ives. Harry then thumbed through the pages past the As, then the Bs, until he reached the Ps, turning 10 or so pages until he found PO, then another page until he found POT, where he fully opened the book, all the pages he'd turned dropping at once with a loud thud onto the desk. He found James Potter only a couple lines down on the second page open, followed by Lily Potter (pregnant). Harry's name wasn't present. The census noted that they lived in a place called 'Godric's Hollow' which Harry had never heard of. The next name on the list was another Potter, although she was named Janice, age 71, and living in Hogsmeade, so the possibility of her being James and Lily's child was unlikely.

Harry closed the book, picked it up, and walked back over to Madam Pince's desk, where she was standing waiting for him.

"Done?" She asked.

"Is it ok if I take a couple more out? The next two years after this one?" Madam Pince seemed annoyed at the request despite the fact that, to Harry, she didn't seem to be doing anything else. Regardless, she guided Harry back to the dusty alcove, pulling out the two books next to the empty space that the first had left, dropping them both into Harry's outstretched arms which already held the first. Harry's knees nearly buckled under the impact and weight of the books, but Madam Pince had already walked back to her desk by the time Harry had managed to make his way to the nearest table. The covers of the two new books looked almost identical to the first aside from the years shown. Harry opened the middle book, opening the first page again. It looked similar to that of the first book he had read, except that both Cristoph and Celia Abernathy had been pronounced (deceased), and everybody else's ages had increased. Harry quickly thumbed through again, trying to find his own surname, but as he scanned, he noticed that there seemed to be a lot of (deceased) people throughout the census. Finally, he found his own surname once again. Listed there, now about halfway down the page, was James Potter, Lily Potter, and Harry Potter (born), listed with residence UNKNOWN, which seemed odd to Harry. Once again, however, no other related Potters were present in the census, so Harry closed that one too, reaching for the following year's, opening up at about where he expected P to be (and missing by a few dozen pages). He found his surname again. His heart dropped a little as he found his father's name. James Potter (deceased). On the line below, Lily Potter (deceased). On the line below that, Harry Potter - whose address had been recorded as (new residence, Little Whinging). And below that, Janice Potter, age 73, of Hogsmeade.

It couldn't be. Harry had been sure of it. The girl in the mirror had to be his dead sister, he knew it. And yet, here the evidence was laid out before him. Lily and James had had no other child, and Lily hadn't been pregnant with another. Unable to believe it, Harry closed the book and thought for a while. Who was this girl that Harry couldn't keep out of his head? She had to have been important, or related. Maybe she was from another dimension where Lily and James hadn't died? But how was the Mirror showing Harry that? Harry couldn't rationalise what he had just found out, but he knew he would be going back to the mirror that night to find out.

He didn't bother to wake Ron that evening. Harry put the invisibility cloak on, taking little care to be quiet about it. He walked at some speed after leaving Gryffindor's common room, more confident of his way to the mirror now. He realised that he would be making quite some noise, but that didn't matter; nothing mattered except seeing the mirror again, seeing his family again, seeing that girl. He managed to find his way to the room faster than before, but he'd been making more noise than was wise. Still, he rushed through the door, taking no care to open it quietly. There was the mirror, with his parents, smiling at him and his family behind them, each of them smiling in turn. And there, at the front, was that girl, also smiling back. Or rather, she was copying Harry, who was smiling at her. She sat down as Harry did, staring at each other in the mirror. There was nothing that would stop Harry from staying here all night with his family, nothing at all.

Except –

"So – back again, Harry?"

Harry's heart dropped, his stomach turning to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

"I - I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how near-sighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"Well, it shows me my family."

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."

"How did you know?"

"You don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently, smirking lightly "Now Harry, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want... whatever we want..."

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts." Harry's eyes turned back to the mirror, clearly confused. "Is something wrong, Harry?"

"If it shows us the thing we want the most, then who is the girl?"

"The girl, Harry?" Dumbledore enquired.

"Well, Professor, I see my family in the mirror, but when I look at myself, there's someone else there. A girl. I thought she was my sister but I couldn't find anything about her." Harry turned back to face Dumbledore, who was looking inquisitively at Harry. "Who is she?"

"Harry, the mirror is just that. A mirror. It shows us a reflection of ourselves first and foremost." Harry turned his head to the mirror again as Dumbledore spoke, his heartrate rising. "Whatever you see in the mirror is that which you desire the most for yourself. I think you know who the girl is."

And in that moment, Harry did know who the girl was. He hadn't even realised it, but he'd known since he had first saw her, and had been unconsciously putting off proving it to himself. Looking into the mirror, he put his hand to his forehead, and she did the same, both reaching the fringe that covered their foreheads. Harry's heart was racing now. Harry put his fingers underneath the strands of hair, and pushed them up, revealing his forehead. The girl in the mirror did the same. There, in the middle of her forehead, exactly like Harry, was a scar shaped like a bolt of lightning.

"She's… me."

Seeing it, knowing it to be true, it all made sense to Harry. She saw herself in the mirror as she most wanted to see herself. She looked into the reflections of her parents, who were smiling, tears in their eyes.

"If that is what your heart says is true." Harry turned back as Dumbledore said this, her eyes starting to water too. She paused for a moment, no words reaching her at all as she tried to wrap her head around this revelation. She felt her world shatter apart, with everything she thought she had known about herself peeling away bit by bit. But every time she felt an aspect of herself drift away, a memory from her past came back to fill its place, each a memory that had confused her until now. How she hated being compared to her father. How she hadn't ever felt like she quite at home, even at Hogwarts where she was surrounded by people who appreciated her. Some childhood moments came back to her, too, like the time when, while trying on one of Dudley's old shirts, Aunt Petunia had said that it looked like a dress on her. She'd never realised it, but she had always seen that as a good memory, despite the ridicule the Dursleys had given her over it. Or the time she had felt jealousy at some of her classmates when she overheard that they had been given makeup as gifts.

"What do I do now?" Was all Harry could ask Dumbledore.

"I do not know, Harry." Dumbledore said, then after a careful pause, "If it is Harry that you still are."

She thought again for a moment. She didn't dislike the name Harry. In fact, she liked that some girls were called Harry. She imagined herself for a moment as Harry Potter, the witch. Harry Potter, the girl. The Girl Who Lived, even. It still sounded right to her.

"Harry's still good."

"Indeed. Well, Harry, it won't be easy. There is certainly the magic for it when you are ready, intense though it may be. And while it is sadly not true everywhere in the world, Hogwarts will always be a place where those of us who are shunned or hurt are welcomed with open arms. I myself have Professor Dippet to thank for keeping that promise when I needed it most."

"Thank you, Professor. What had happened to you?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly at Harry and stood up, stepping in between her and the mirror, facing towards it, his long robes blocking her view.

"I have seen this mirror many, many times Harry. And I have seen many people observe that which they most desire, for better or for worse. Many of those have spent hours, days even, wasting away in front of the mirror, longing at the image of their truest happiness. But it is just that – an image. For you, and those for whom their desires are attainable, it is better to leave the mirror and go about making that image a reality. For those others, like myself, for whom such desires can never be reached – well, it is no use dwelling on the impossible. In either case, the mirror is best left unseen. Promise me, Harry, that you won't look for the mirror again. You will not be able to find it after tonight, but your heart may not be satisfied for as long as you look for it."

That didn't answer Harry's question, and she remained as confused as before, but it did create a new question that she hadn't thought to ask yet.

"I promise. Professor, what is it that you see in the mirror?"

"It is, perhaps unfairly, that I have been one who has looked after the mirror on multiple occasions. And I have encountered many looking into the mirror for the first time, even here at Hogwarts. Again perhaps unfairly, I know the deepest desires of a number of people who have found themselves where you are now, and yet none know my deepest desires. And that is how that shall stay. I hope you understand."

"Of course, Professor."

Dumbledore didn't turn around, but instead continued to look at the mirror, perhaps wistfully (although Harry couldn't see as he was stood in her way). He continued, in a much lower voice, one that Harry was perhaps not supposed to hear, "Ah, Gellert. How I wish things could have been different." Suddenly, with the energy of a much younger man, he took a large step to the right, revealing in the mirror Harry as she sat on the floor, that flowery dress and long hair carefully covering her crossed legs. "Alas, what I now see in the mirror is a bright young witch in the making!" He gestured at Harry to stand up, and she did. He moved behind her so that they were both facing the mirror and put his hand on her shoulder. "And in front of me I see her also." Harry's heart soared at this, the warm feeling she'd felt in her chest erupting, enveloping all other senses for a brief moment. "Is that who you see in the mirror, Harry?"

"It is." She said confidently.

"Excellent. I hope that, one day – and soon – you see her in every other mirror too. Now, we both should be heading off to bed. It is getting late. Or perhaps it is getting early." Harry looked confused at him, but he continued unfazed, "Regardless, it is time to sleep."

"I can't come back after tonight, can I?"

"No. The mirror will not be here anyway."

Harry paused for a moment, before asking, "Can I stay? For just a little longer?"

Dumbledore smiled that same sweet and sad smile. His eyes pierced into Harry's soul; she'd never really felt understood by anyone before, but now, here, she felt a very deep connection with the old headmaster.

"Alright, Harry. Five more minutes."


End file.
